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A Crest Of Honor And Blood
The following week was Chima's funeral. More people than I expected were there. All dressed in white shirts, white suits with wine coloured trousers or skirts. I stood next to Mom in my all black attire. I couldn't comprehend why everyone else was dressed the way they were. Or why they acted the way they did. No one cried. There were no wailing old women and old men trying to comfort them. Even the weather confused me. The sun was shining in a kind of happy-go-lucky way. The birds sang gleefully. It was almost like no one cared. No, it was more like they expected it. Like they all knew he would die.
The sermon was brief, and very few people spoke about the deceased.
The deceased.
I've always hated it whenever they spoke about someone like that. Being dead doesn't make you less of a human being.
But then life was cruel.
The man who took Chima's life was cruel and deserved to
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